A Crease in Language
by seilleanmor
Summary: An episode insert for 8.02 XX. Between Kate getting home from her talk with Rita, and the final scene. One shot.


It's as easy to make an antibubble in your own kitchen

as it is to open up a crease in language

and reveal what you couldn't say yesterday.

 _ **Deft**_ **, Jo Shapcott**

* * *

 **A Crease in Language**

* * *

"Oh, thank God," Rick breathes, stumbling up from the couch. His wife closes the door behind herself and slumps back against it, scraping a clumsy hand through her hair. "You're home. What happened?"

"Allison Hyde is dead," Kate whispers, lifting her eyes to his when he comes to stand in front of her. The last time he saw her like this she had Nieman's blood on her hands, and he reaches for her because he doesn't know how else to draw her through the fog of grief.

Palms cupping her elbows, he brings her in close until she leans against his chest, her forehead to his sternum. Her fists come up between their bodies to press against his stomach and Rick kisses the crown of her head, his arms tight around her. "You're okay. It's over."

"Not over," she shakes her head, the bones of her skull grating against him, and then she lifts her chin. She's in flats, and when she tilts her face up to meet his eyes he can't help but dust his fingers against the pale column of her throat. "It's not. She was just a patsy. Someone is still-"

Kate cuts herself off on a grunt, her jaw wired tightly closed, and she turns her head away from him. Panic comes like a fist around his throat and Rick gasps a breath, lifting his hand to lay his palm against her cheek instead. "Please tell me the truth. Please, Kate."

"I can't," she whispers, lashes in a slow sweep against her cheek as her eyes close. The bones of her face shift, coalescing into something hard, and for a moment she's a stranger in his grip. "Castle. If anything- I won't let you die. I won't."

"Telling me the truth doesn't mean that I have to die," he says bitterly, but his wife is already untangling herself from him and stalking towards their bedroom.

She's favouring her left side, her whole body tilting dramatically, and he stumbles after her. Doesn't have to go very far, because she's frozen in place by the dresser. One hand lifts to reach for the plastic ribbon from her cake, her movements slow and disconnected as if her muscles have frayed down to wire.

"I can't believe this was only this morning."

"Hell of a day," he says, sliding an arm around her and splaying a palm at her stomach. Carefully low down, but it still makes her hiss and grit her teeth. "You want me to get you some painkillers?"

Kate shrugs him off and pulls her turtleneck up over her head, inspecting the wound in the mirror. The stitches are neat, considering she did them herself, but there's dried blood crusted all along the jagged edge of the gash. His wife's fingers brush the skin just underneath the injury and she twists at the waist to get a better look.

"It's going to scar. Sorry."

"For what?" he grunts, palms at her shoulders to turn her around. He is so sick of not being able to meet her head on, having to peek into the mirror for a clue to her thoughts.

No more of this, Kate.

"All of it," she admits, worrying the edge of her fingernail. "I tried to call you. After I was shot. Vikram tossed my phone, said that was how they tracked me."

"You could have used a payphone," he says, rage washing through him like a saline flush. He feels the cold travel down his arms and his fingers curl into a fist, a growl rumbling in the base of his throat. "Bought a burner. There are ways for you to have contacted me, Beckett. You just didn't."

"Couldn't," she corrects automatically, folding her arms across her chest.

Her shoulders come up to her ears and he gruffs out a pained noise, capturing her wrists in his hands to draw her arms down to her sides again. "Why won't you let me in? You won't even let me look at you. I'm your husband, damn it. You think I care about some scar?"

"I'm ashamed," she cries out, lifting her eyes to meet his again. Her chest heaves, her breasts straining against the cups of her bra, and her mouth twists into a grotesque slash. "I'm so ashamed. You're my husband, and we're a team. And I'm ashamed that I didn't try harder to get a message to you. But I'm not sorry."

"You're not," he says flatly, stumbling away from this siren to sit heavily on the end of their bed.

She stays over by the dresser as if she's tethered there, half naked in the wan light of the late evening. He closed every single blind in the loft the moment he got home, because he felt slow-blinking eyes on him and he didn't want the whole city bearing witness to his grief.

"I'm not sorry," Kate says, stepping out of her shoes. Her toes curl against the hardwood and she glances down at them, gathering herself before she manages to look at him again. "Castle, do you have any idea how much I love you?"

"About as much as I love you?" he hedges, reaching out a hand to her.

He gets a single shake of her head and Castle draws his arm back, tucks it in close against himself like a shattered wing. Kate's whole body trembles and he wishes she would just sit down and stop martyring herself.

"Yes. Maybe more. And do you understand that I will do anything to protect you? I value your life more. . .more than my own happiness."

"What are you saying?" his voice comes hollowed out, this whole wretched day scraping him raw from the inside, and he comes to stand in front of her. "Kate. No."

His wife swipes her fingertips over her cheek but there's nothing there, nothing. "I might have to do some things. And you're not going to like it."

"I don't care," he blurts, grabbing for her. He snags her fingers and brings them up to his mouth, kisses each knuckle and then the back of her hand. "I don't care. Do whatever. Just keep me close. Remember?"

She manages a smile for him but it's weak at the corners, the lines of her face blurring with exhaustion. "I want to. I don't want to be without you."

"So don't," he pleads, sliding his arms around her shoulders to draw her in close again. She slumps against his chest, her skin cold, and gooseflesh erupts underneath the trails of his fingertips. "Let's get you in the shower, hmm?"

"I need to dress this," she says, glancing down at the jagged slash along her abdomen. It makes her chin crease up and Rick stoops to kiss the folds of her neck, tucking the fingertips of one hand into the top of her slacks. Her hips rock shallowly against him and she sighs, palming the back of his head. "Will you help me?"

He nods, mute with relief at being needed for something, and he reaches for her hand. His fingers are clumsy and too thick, but he manages to tuck hers up against his paw and draw her into the bathroom with him.

Castle nudges her to sit on the closed toilet seat and he leaves her there, stooping to rummage in the cabinet for the things he needs. He finds gauze and surgical tape, scissors, and he comes back to kneel on the tile between his wife's legs.

"I can't believe you stitched yourself up," he says, hearing the awe that swells in his own voice. "So badass."

She huffs a ragged breath of laughter and slumps back against the cistern, the chill of the porcelain making her spine arch for a moment before she relaxes again. "Yeah. It wasn't as cool as it seems in the movies."

"Did you get it checked over?" he asks, his eyes focused on the work of his hands as he measures out the gauze, cutting a piece to fit. She hisses when he presses the gauze against her wound and he winces, glancing up at her face. "Sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Her fingers come to hold the gauze in place while he tapes it down and she breathes heavily through her nose, a little snort every so often. "Still hurts like a bitch. But at least it was just a graze."

"At least you're here," he grunts, pausing in his work to wrap his fingers around her ankle. His thumb circles against the smooth bone and gratitude presses heavily against the back of his neck, makes him stoop until his forehead meets her thigh. "God, Kate. Please don't disappear on me again."

"I won't," she says, tugging on his ear until he lifts his head to see her. "Hurry up and finish. I want to kiss you."

That makes him chuckle and he shakes his head at her, hurrying through taping down the gauze and fixing a waterproof dressing over the top. "There. Good as new."

"Thanks," Kate says, sliding down to join him on the floor. They get tangled in a jumble of limbs and an elbow against his sternum makes him grunt. Kate's mouth opens against his chin, her tongue darting out, and he ducks his head to capture her mouth.

Dark grief swamps him when her tongue slicks inside and he gets his hands around her biceps to push her back. Horror rises in his throat and he swipes uselessly at her tears, feels as bumbling and foolish as those first weeks he knew her. "Hey, don't cry. It's over now. You're safe."

"I'm not," Kate shakes her head fiercely. Her eyes dart violently and she presses a hand to her forehead, slumping against him.

"Have you even eaten today?"

"Haven't really had the time," she shrugs, shifting to her knees. Kate pushes the hair back out of his eyes, smiling to herself at the fluffy spill of it, but her grin falls down her face, smearing like stage makeup, and she swallows. "Castle. I never wanted to be your albatross. And I know you said that you're my partner, my husband, and we're a team, but I. . .I can't put you in danger."

"We could go?" he offers, remembering those long hours behind the wheel. Driving through the night with Kate unconscious at his side, pulling over on the highway for her to puke. Fisting a hand in the back of her sweater so that she didn't fall out of the car and onto the tarmac.

He'll do it again. All of it, any of it, to keep her safe.

"I don't want to go," she says fiercely, rising up on her knees. It puts her taller than him, for just a moment, and then she sinks back down. "You heard what I said to Allison. I'm happy here. This is- _you_ are my home. And that's why I have to keep fighting. So I still have a home to come back to at the end of the day."

"Fighting?" he frowns, reaching for her again. He tries to be gentle, really he does, but his wife clambers into his lap and curls up like an infant, her fist against his chest. "Don't fight, Kate. There's been enough of that. Let's rest now."

"Can't," she shakes her head, drawing her knees up. "Not if you're in danger. I will do whatever I have to to keep you safe."

Rick grunts a noise of frustration and wraps an arm around her legs, his nose pressing hard against her cheekbone. "I'm safest when I'm with you. We have each other's back."

"Attachments are a liability," she says, staring off into the middle distance of their bathroom. It's different now, Boba Fett in storage and fresh flowers on the counter top. A dish on the windowsill behind the bathtub full up with her favourite soaps and bubble bars.

His whole loft, his whole _life_ , spilling over with the joy of sharing in it with her.

He's not sure what she means, exactly, but he's not about to let her label him a liability. "Attachments, maybe. But not partners, Beckett."

"Yeah," she says, but her eyes are vacant. She's not really with him at all, but he's handled this before. He knows exactly what she needs.

"Well," he yawns, his arms squeezing tight around her. "I'm going to go make something to eat. You take some time, collect your thoughts. Whatever you need. Come find me when you're ready for some food."

He brings her to her feet with him and tucks his hands into the back pockets of her pants, squeezing until she lifts onto tiptoe against him. Rick kisses her, his wife, and when they break apart her forehead meets his chin.

Cool fingertips flirt with the soft place underneath his ribcage and she makes a noise that he might have called a whimper, if this weren't Kate Beckett.

"Whatever happens, just know that I love you. And everything I do, every choice, is to keep you safe. To keep our life safe."

"You're scaring me," he murmurs against the crown of her head, taking a step back so he can see the grief that twists her face. "Kate?"

She shakes her head, meeting his eyes again and managing a smile for him. "Nothing. Just- don't forget that I love you, Castle. And your life is worth more to me than my happiness."

"Okay," he says slowly, searching her face, but there's nothing. A careful blankness, one he's seen so very many times before, and he swallows against the sudden rise of bile in his throat. "But you don't have to make a choice, Beckett. You can have both of those things."

"Yeah," she says quietly, but her fingers are worrying at the edge of the dressing on her stomach.

His stomach growls and he winces, catching sight of his fuzzy-bear reflection in the mirror over the sink. It wasn't even a fully day, he didn't even have to go to bed without her beside him, but not knowing where she was made things like eating seem inconsequential.

"Go make yourself some food," Kate hums, straightening the collar of his plaid shirt. Her smile is so sad, but she pushes on his chest before he can open his mouth and ask why she looks like she's still right in the centre of the chaos. "Go. I'll be out in a minute."

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 **Tumblr:** katiehoughton

 **Twitter:** seilleanmor

 **A/N:** I personally love this arc and I'm really really excited to see where it goes. So please, don't waste your time spewing hate about the episode or Beckett. I'll just delete it.


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